


Nightwing and Aquaman - Under the Moon

by BKent



Category: Aquaman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BKent/pseuds/BKent
Summary: Nightwing meets Aquaman late at night at the water's edge at Gotham Harbor, and Nightwing thanks Aquaman for his help, in his own "special" way.
Relationships: Robin/Aquaman, nightwing/aquaman
Kudos: 7





	Nightwing and Aquaman - Under the Moon

** Nightwing and Aquaman: Under the Moon **

So, the boss (um, that would be Batman. Bruce. Whatever. “My boss,” whatever I called him) never really liked to work with others. Hell, it took a while even to agree to work with me, and even then I don’t think he had much choice, after I figured out that the antique grandfather clock in the upstairs study hid more than just long-time family secrets. It hid the elevator to the “office,” as we called the Batcave. He came downstairs one day when I was still really young, just after I got there, after my parents were killed in a mob hit job at Halley’s Circus (that’s another story). But he was searching because he couldn’t find me all over the house (well, “house” is a pretty broad term when you’re talking about Wayne Manor, and when I say “he” couldn’t find me, I mean him and about 20 video monitors that covered every inch of the house and grounds, and several staff, even beyond Alfred) and happened to then find me “downstairs,” making myself right at home at the main batcomputer console, perusing and alternating between views of the various webcams at Arkham, trained on all the Usual Suspects. 

Riddler was writing riddles on the walls, frantically; Joker was playing with a toy clown doll he had gotten ahold of, probably by stealing it from someone after ripping his throat open, and he was giggling as he was ripping the doll’s head off and putting it back on and shaking it; Poison Ivy was spritzing the one plant (ficus, I think) that she was allowed to have in her cell, which kept her obsessed and occupied enough to be docile. The clear glass door of the cylindrical elevator had swung open, and there Bruce was: glaring like I’d never seen before.

“Surprise!” I had said, as I flipped monitor screens between Joker and Riddler, just as Riddler was looking up at the lens and flipping off the camera. Once I discovered that Bruce was “the Big Guy,” I guess you could say it was some kind of arranged marriage, arranged at someplace way, way loonier than Arkham could ever be. So, it was me and the Boss from then on. And it was all great – well, until it wasn’t. Years and years later. And THAT was when I became Nightwing. Little Robin flew the nest. Which brings us to the present: 

So, the other guys – the other Robins of Spring – although I _was_ the first, remember – were hired on. And they were mostly great (don’t get me started on them; the little brats). But occasionally, Big Bat didn’t mind my helping out, for old times’ sake. I’d ride my (incredibly awesome, by the way) bike up to Gotham from my new home Bludhaven and help out. Bludhaven had its fun, but Gotham was bigger and just contained more low-lifes per capita. And this time, even the two of us wasn’t enough. It was Penguin, see, that Foul Fat Fuck. He was throwing us a few curve-balls and we couldn’t quite strike the bat, as it were. Very reluctantly – and when Big Bat does something reluctantly, the world weeps – we had agreed to call in a little bit of help from Art. Arthur. Mr. Curry. Aquaman. Whatever. The Foul Fowl had apparently robbed a cruise ship just outside Gotham Harbor, and his foul Flock of Fucks henchmen had divided the heist into half a dozen different vessels and were spreading out in “get-away boats” all over the Harbor, to land at different points in his divide-and-conquer strategy. I headed off some in the Bat-Boat, the Boss Guy was hovering overhead in the Batcopter, but there were still too many boats to corral at one time. So, we had Art – I gotta stop saying that – OK, _Aquaman_ \-- helped out. He called on, I guess, about 100 killer whales from way out at sea and they came in closer, swimming at warp speed. They helped surround the henchman’s boats and then BAM! really rammed into them, dozens of them, capsizing most of the getaway boats, and some of Penguin’s goons became a late-night snack for the whales. I kept wondering what Aquaman heard them “say” in his telepathic language he shared with them that is the equivalent of “nom-nom-nom; mmmmm good” in killer whale. Hope they all didn’t get food poisoning feasting on the brined guts of low-life goons. 

I rammed into Butthole Bird’s main boat with “our” (I guess we call it) Batboat, and put a big gash into the side of it, and then The Big Guy came down the ladder from the Batcopter above it and nabbed Putrid Penguie and threw him overboard, just as Aquaman swam up and dragged Penguin’s sorry, soggy, fat fuck ass into shore, where Gotham PD was waiting to re-cage the bird. I wanted Batman to sink Penguin’s boat right there, but Mr. Bat Boy-Scout wanted to “preserve the Harbor” from boat rubbish and had it towed in and scrapped for recycled materials. So he said. I think he just wanted to abscond with Penguin’s electronic gear on board that had somehow jammed the cruise ship’s radio systems. 

So, anyway, later that the night, Big Bat wanted to thank Art for his help, and he wasn’t about to compromise his Isolated Pride by doing anything himself except maybe a quick “Thanks” text message. For Batman, that’s like a heartfelt testimonial speech at your funeral. So, I was bored (and, I admit, a little horny) and didn’t want to ride back to Bludhaven yet, so I went back down to the Harbor after a quick visit to the Batcave for tea with Alfred (my, I love what you’ve done with the place – the Batcomputer had some new 3-D console screens, which were awesome – you could now see Two-Face moon the camera lens in 3-D glory; couldn’t live without seeing that). It was great to catch up with good ole’ Al, but the grown-up Nightwing has places to be, and this here Dick (Grayson) needs to get some of his own. 

With the speed of my bike, I got from the Manor down to the Harbor in record time, then wondered how I was going to summon Aquaman to shore. But just as I wondered out loud where Big Fish was, I guess a guppy off the shoreline “heard” me at went to get Art, because within seconds, an orange streak made a beeline through the water to the shore, and “shore enough”, up pops Art, leaping onto the overlook rock on the beach I was standing on. He was already hard, I could see, through his especially thin tights (that’s something people forget; of all of us, Art has the thinnest tights – modest, he’s not. Flash is always making jokes about that under his breath when we’re at Justice League meetings, and Clark (who can hear a butterfly fart in the Maldives) always shoots him a dirty look. Killjoy. 

“So, is that an electric eel in your pants, or are you just glad to see me?” I ask the Watery One.

“I’m just glad to see you,” he says, ripping off his right glove with his left hand, as his left hand grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in closer, giving me huge (of course, wet) kiss on my mouth.

“Good answer!” I said, using my own left hand to remove my right gauntlet and cupping his crotch. I was starting to get wet on my own. 

As we made out, in the back of my head, I kept thinking how good his beard felt on face. I still had my mask on, and the monitors inside my lenses were telling me his body temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate were going up the more we made out. 

He liked me. I was used to feeling Big Guy’s scruff (Bruce had the sexiest beardline that only came out really late at night after a good night of knocking heads together), but to feel the scratchy-softness of A’s beard was awesome. I could taste the salt water on his lips and tongue. He was grabbing my ass with his ungloved hand, and I felt the other hand grabbing my neck and pulling me really tight, like he wanted to get his tongue as deep as his home in the sea. I think he was turned on that he was “borrowing” his Bat Buddy’s Bottom (um, that would be me, although I prefer to be called “Nightwing”, thank you), and I felt turned on, too, like I always do when I get a piece of another JLA member. Although I was still holding fantasies about Clark (as The Bat and I like to call him, just to piss him off, since he prefers “Superman” in all settings, including JLA headquarters, which is just pretentious as fuck, but that’s Clark for ya). I’ll get to that, but tonight I was being purely pescatarian. 

I looked around the area with my mask still on, trying to see if anyone was around using the infrared scanner in my lenses. They weren’t. This place was dead as a doornail, except for some super-kinky porpoises that were offshore about 100 yards watching the Big Fish get it on and totally amusing themselves; they always say porpoises are playful (yeah, back off, Flipper, the grown-ups are playing here). 

With the luxury of solitude, it wasn’t long before we had both activated the quick-release mechanisms of our suits (mine was better, of course, as it was, like all our gadgets, designed by Lucius Fox at Wayne Enterprises at the private lab, and Big Fish somehow had to fend for himself). But whatever the method, we were both naked on the big, flat rock in no time.

He glided into me without even needing a jellyfish for lube (ooh, that sounds painful, on second thought) but I think he had some kind of oyster goo on his fingertips that were probing me first. The moon had risen now for total overhead lighting, so I could see the glint off that sexy wild mane of blonde hair over me. “Can you get that off, please,” he said of my mask. In a flash (no pun intended) it was off, and we could both look into each other’s eyes. 

He pounded me harder than the surf reaches the shore in a hurricane, and I could feel the flow of his Cum Caviar burst into me like a whale spraying from his blowhole. Everything about Art was strong, including the force of his load, and I giggled as it happened, which just made him grin.

“Don’t say it,” he said.

“Say what?” I asked, mock annoyed.

“Something stupid. Like, ‘holy blowhole, Aqua-stud!’”

With the mask off now, he can see as I glared. 

“Not a chance,” I said, then couldn’t help but smile what I’m sure was a sheepish grin, because he knew that’s exactly what I was thinking of.

“You just thought that, didn’t you?” he said, cocking his left eyebrow in that way he does when he wants to appear mad, but really isn’t.

“Well, yeah,” I said, so relaxed that I allowed myself to laugh. “Hey; I thought you were only telepathic with fish!”

“Oh, come on! What else would you say?” he said, as he grabbed my left butt cheek and pulled my hole open, and I think I left some “caviar” on the rock, as I thought “some seagull is gonna love that in a little while.”

“How about just.. do that again?” I said, as coyly as Selina Kyle in heat. 

“Happy to oblige,” he said, as he thrust back into me for round two.

I think it was even two more times by the time he got some telepathic message from a seahorse about two miles out in the Harbor that some yahoo adventurer in an inflatable raft was in trouble and about to rendezvous with a school of sharks. 

He looked away, slightly down to the right, like he always does when he’s getting a message from one of his seafood friends. 

“Damn,” he said, “Duty calls.”

“I completely understand,” I said, this time sincerely and not my usual sarcastic self. He had done such a good job, I thought in that moment he deserved a little sincerity. Just don’t tell the Bat. He’ll get all jealous and shit. You know how he gets. One false move and he sulks for days. But, then, how can you tell? He’s always like that. 

He didn’t even say, “I’ll call ya,” before he dove back into the water (it was getting time, anyway, the Gilled Gurlfriend can’t stay out of water too long or she squeals like a dolphin at a gang-bang). I watched the orange-and-green streak through the water like undersea lightning, and he was gone.

I looked up at the still-high moon above. Then saw the Bat-Signal light up the whole other quadrant of the sky to right. 

“Shit,” I though. I better go see if I can help again. 

Besides, I thought, I’d get some sick satisfaction from coming back to the Batcave and being Sloppy Seconds for Him.

And that’s not even the worse of it. The whole time he’s bat-plugging me for ole’ times’ sake, I’ll be back to my fantasies about Clark. With Flash not far behind. 

Hey, I can take it. Even as Nightwing, I’m still the Boy Wonder after all. 


End file.
